Sometimes I Worry
by Magical Shovel
Summary: Just like any other human being, I am a man. A man that is all too mortal. I admit that I have my own shortcomings. This journal will be destroyed upon my death. I admit that sometimes I worry.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters from Repo! The Genetic Opera. They belong to Terrance Zdunich and Darren Smith. If I owned them, I'd have some money in my wallet instead of having it cough dust at me.

**Author's Note: **I'm truly impressed about the growing rise of Repo! Fics. Also, this happens to be my first Rotti-centric fic. If this goes over well, I may make it into a short series. The "Sometimes I" series, kind of like Promises. Oh, also. I don't mean to offend religion. I had written what I believe Rotti would have written. I tried to tap into his mind.

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**Property of Rottissimo Largo**

**Sanitarium Island, California**

**2056 **

To think that I would be inherently foolish as to keep a journal of sort, yet, here I write. Many may come to wonder as to why a powerful man such as myself would even have a journal. Well, it's for private and personal gain. After my inevitable death, this reporting of my life will be destroyed. I have no desire to reveal this small, leather-bound book to my children. They needn't see the man they once admired unveil his very fears, regrets, and shortcomings. The strengths are what matter. They don't need to see an old, broken man. Power is what matters in the end. I would rather be spiteful and bitter as judgment approaches compared to being kind and ultimately weak.

However, I am a man who has a hearty plate. There is quite a bit that I need to admit. Quite a bit that I would like to bury beneath the roses. Regardless of what people may think, it was Nathan Wallace who killed Marni. His love smothered her. He beckoned his own demise and I sneer at that pathetic case of a man. I was there to lift him up again. My ranting about Nathan and his family is not the underlying purpose behind this journal. It's more so an admittance. Sometimes I worry. As I fill out tedious, seemingly immortal paperwork… I can say that without a second doubt. I worry about GeneCo's future. Who am I to give it to?

I admit that I both love and hate my children. That hate can be all too consuming. My kin have become a disgrace. In a bitter twist of scorn, I could leave this all to Wallace's youthful daughter who shares and uncanny appearance with Marni… When it comes down to things, I will do what I must. GeneCo is my main concern and is my priority. After all, _gold_ makes the world go 'round. Money represents the utmost form of power. That cannot be stressed enough. These are minute on my short list of fears. I'm not afraid of death. After life, there is nothingness. I take that to heart since the Father many believe in should have saved this race from further disgrace. So, He did not. Religion is for the ill of mind. I do not need it in my life. I have authority.

Sometimes I worry about my children, most of all. They are of my genetics. I fathered them, raised them. I didn't intend for them to become the way they currently are. They're neither men nor women, but monsters. Where on earth did I go wrong? Something must have happened as I skim through memories, both long lost and essentially forgotten.

Amber Sweet was once Carmella Largo. I remember that I recall telling the children stories of their beautiful mothers. I remember patting Luigi on the shoulder and praising him for one thing or another. I remember having Paviche spend hours in my office, dreamily gazing out the window. I remember Amber, playing dress-up and throwing tea parties. They all thrived on innocence. There were days spent at the park, at a small strip of stores, and rainy days spent at home. Those memories are vivid, although infrequent. Then, what? Tell me where I went wrong. On second thought, don't. It's not my fault nor my undoing. GeneCo was a family business in a sense. My work kept me from my children, but I didn't want to be reduced to rags once more.

Sometimes I worry about how my children have become such ingrates. I spoiled them. I know this. I gave them the world which they walked all over. I was never thanked. Isn't that a part of the role as a parent, however? The world corrupted them. Luigi developed a homicidal temper, having gained the irrepressible urge to kill. Pavi became a womanizer, raping and stealing faces as he went along. Sweet Carmella, otherwise known as Amber Sweet, developed a severe addiction to street Zydrate and surgery. I hate what they've become. It infuriates me to no end.

I now worry for their futures. What will they do when I'm gone? Only time will tell. In the end, I don't know what to do. Luigi, Pavi, and Amber are my dearest and only children. They're of my blood. I love them all to a degree. As individuals, one could not obtain GeneCo. They would be a disgrace to my name. Combined, the outcome would be far better even if they continued to bicker like a vicious pack of dogs over my will. I'll only reveal my final decision when my life comes to an end. I have a heavy burden on my shoulders that cannot and will not be released.

I have to worry. It's a part of the occupation. As a father and a business man, I have my concerns. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I have to think about GeneCo… My children need to understand this. If not now, they will in the future. Time will reveal the chaos for what it truly is. In the end, this journal means nothing and will fade from existence. I fear for my flesh and blood. Sometimes… Sometimes I _do_ worry.

**End of entry.**


End file.
